


A Voice after the War

by trahelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disability, Disabled Character, Don't copy to another site, Drabble, Drarry, Feelings, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mute Harry Potter, Muteness, One Shot, Short One Shot, War Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trahelle/pseuds/trahelle
Summary: When Harry comes back from King's Cross, he does so without his voice. This is a short one-shot about coping with that and learning to enjoy his life differently than before.





	A Voice after the War

Harry is mute after the war. What he experienced in _Death’s Limbo_ , as he’d come to call it, maybe it had been a universal truth or a bargain for his own existence, but it changed him, took his voice, and left him quiet.

He feels its permanence, knows this isn’t something he can come back from or will. Truthfully, part of it feels like relief to not have anything to say — to have a reason to keep to himself — and losing his voice doesn’t mean he can’t converse at all. With properly phrased questions and poignant looks, he can still speak his mind; people just need to _listen_.

It’s been harder for Hermione and Ron to adjust to, because he’s their best friend and they’re always remembering how he was before and trying to get him back to that. Maybe they feel he’s lost too much to lose his voice too, but loving and wanting the best for him, they’ve pushed and prodded till he feels like his new, silent voice is drowned by their good-intentions and he pulls away.

McGonagall gives him a position as Hagrid’s assistant and it works — Hagrid who always has words to fill the silence and beasts who, like him, communicate through body language, touch, and huffs of air that carry meaning. It’s less than anyone wanted or imagined The Boy Who Lived being able to contribute, but he’s back in the one place he ever felt at home and it fills him in a way he’s been empty since coming back to the living.

He helps Neville, too; repotting plants, tending to weeds, and harvesting potions ingredients. He’s good at it, working with his hands, and he likes it. Likes tea with Neville, who reads him books and talks with him about whatever’s interested him most recently. Harry finds he’s a better listener since he stopped speaking, finds he enjoys that, too.

Malfoy joins the staff the following year as their new Potions professor, and Harry steers clear of him at first. They’ve always sparred verbally and, though Harry isn’t embarrassed about his muteness, being faced with the inability to defend himself against his old rival feels like too much. It makes him restless, makes his home feel vulnerable in a way that only dissipates when he moves, so he wanders the castle and the grounds at night.

He’s up in the Owlery one night, cleaning and tending to the birds, when the sound of a clearing throat startles him.

“I can leave,” Malfoy says as he stands uncertainly on the threshold, robes open to reveal Muggle nightclothes and slippers underneath.

Harry shakes his head, his mop of long, dark curls tied up in a bun atop his head.

They sit on the Owlery steps, the rustling of feathers and hooting a backdrop to their half-silent conversation, but something changes. Instead of talking at him like the others, Draco asks him questions. It’s stilted at first, awkwardly trying to rephrase them in a way that Harry can easily answer, but they find rhythm and it starts to get easier.

The hours pass without the two noticing, until the sun starts to rise, coloring the world gold and they watch it together in mutual silence, exchanging a handshake as they silently part ways at the bottom of the Owlery’s steps.

After, instead of avoiding Draco, they seek one another out. Sometimes it’s the kitchens or the library or even the Astronomy tower, but they come armed with pen and paper and they share their time together.

One night, Draco meets Harry with a book tucked under his arm. He’s nervous, but produces it after coaxing and Harry sees it’s a tome on British Sign Language. It’s the first time they hug; Harry, so overwhelmed by the implications of the gesture, closes the distance between them and pulls Draco into a tight embrace, holding on for longer than he should. When they finally pull back, Draco looks embarrassed, but pleased, and Harry finds he feels they same way. They learn signing together, practicing in their off moments, until staff and students alike grow accustomed to their silent conversations.

It’s been months since either felt nervous around the other, so when Harry meets Draco in the Owlery one night, finding him pacing, his heart sinks with worry.

_“What’s going on?”_ he asks, after getting Draco’s attention.

_“There’s something I need to tell you,”_ he signs back, but it’s slow like he doesn’t want to say it. _“Something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, but was too scared to risk it.”_

Harry nods for him to continue, his chest feeling strangely tight.

_“Talking with you has been one of the highlights of my life,”_ he starts. _“Knowing you has become my greatest pleasure.”_ He steps closer and Harry feels like his heart’s stopped. _“I loved you before I even knew what to do with it and if there’s a chance you feel even a fraction of what I do, I can’t risk never getting to have that with you, because I do love you. With words and without them, I love you with all that I am.”_

It takes too many breaths for Harry’s heart to start again and in that time, Draco’s face has fallen from hopeful to hopeless.

The sight kicks Harry’s heart back in gear and he takes Draco’s face between his hands, kissing him with all that he feels. With emptiness and fullness and lost years and new beginnings, he pours his heart into Draco through his lips. When he pulls back to see the moonlight framing Draco’s features, he traces them with his finger, lingering on the smile curving his full lips. He mouths the words he can’t say aloud and takes Draco’s hand, placing it over his own heart as he puts his over Draco’s; the beats feel like they’re pulsing in response to one another. When their eyes meet, Harry knows that Draco understands, sometimes words aren't necessary.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this short one-shot! Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
